Orthodox Anarchist

so here’s the predicament—i went to moishe’s sheva brochos tonight (one of seven parties over a course of seven nights, celebrating his recent marriage). the place was packed wall to wall with lubavitcher chosids, all very hip, i might add, and the females all very pleasant as well, but well anyway, not the point…

after dinner, moishe asked me to say the 4th brocha and i was glad to oblige. but the thing is, i haven’t been to sheva brochos since my sister’s wedding when i was like 10 or 11. i stuttered my whole way through the blessing and was really embarassed, even tho perhaps i shouldn’t have been. no one was being outright judgemental of me or anything, because that’s just the very nature of chabad. they’re very warm and welcoming and encouraging of even the most unaffiliated to do mitzvahs. but i felt kind of ashamed. and it’s really not fair that i should feel such shame.

see, i’m a descendant of a vast hasidic dynasty from the town of munkatch, formerly of translyvania but now of ukraine. my grandmother’s nephews are the two most prominent chosidishe rebbes of the munkatch sect in america today. my family is respected and revered throughout the world and whenever i meet a rabbi and tell them about my lineage they freak out like “oh wow! that’s so intense! your great-great-great-grandfather was such a holy man!”

i, on the other hand, was raised in a modern orthodox home that bordered on secularity. our orthodoxy, unbeknownst to me, was an illusion. i wore a yarlmulke when i went to school, but my parents pretty much made me take it off when we were out and about; sometimes they didn’t keep kosher; watched tv on shabbos; and well, i never really got it… i was really confused. and as my parents eventually all but completely lost their interest in orthodoxy, i found myself in public school and no longer truly observant in any conventional sense. i’ve never recovered from the culture shock and confusion.

and well now, i’m pissed off about it. the more i get back into my judaism and i experience doing mitzvahs with other jews, i feel like my birthright was stolen. i feel like i have to struggle to get something that should be second nature… something i shouldn’t even have to think about. something i shouldn’t even have to try at. and i’m not trying to cast any negative aspersions on my parents to make them feel like shit about it, because, hell, everyone’s life is insane and they weren’t trying to hurt me, but rather find their own sanity. but, i just hate the very notion of feeling embarassed about my inadequacies as a jew around chasdim i have so much respect for.

this is particularly the reason why i started taking classes at huc. because, i don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. i hate the very notion of being uncomfortable practicing judaism and being distracted by that discomfort, rather than focusing on having the kavana (intention) behind the practices. the reason i chose huc over another yeshiva was because i felt it was a non-threatening environment. there wasn’t any pressure to perform. reform judaism has limited expectations and the reform jews i’ve encountered have all been very supportive and accepting of my reintroduction, and their liberal stance on political and theological issues, frankly, is easier to swallow, though not even forced down my throat as it would be in an orthodox institution.

anyhow there’s been this theme recurring in my studies lately… in my liturgy class the professor started out by saying that in orthodoxy, it’s more important to say the words of the liturgy than to actually have kavana in saying them. shimon agreed, saying that the reason we are supposed to daven three times a day is as substitute for the three daily sacrifices which we can no longer perform in the absence of the holy temple. for this reason, he said, it is more important for him to fulfill the commandment of the sacrifice than it is to make sure he means it and that hopefully in the continual practice of davening, he says, at times he’ll be “on” while at others he’s sure he’s “off.”

so i asked him, moishe, and sarah who i was helping with her application to huc last week (one of her essays dealt directly with this subject), “isn’t davening without kavana like a bringing a blemished animal for sacrifice?” (it’s prohibited by the laws of judaism to sacrifice a blemished animal.) and they all said yes, but that it was ‘more complicated than that.’ at lunch with rabbi sam intrator earlier today (former rabbi of the carlebach shul on 79th st.) i asked him the same question as well and he told me that in both the shulchan orech and the book of isaiah it’s written that it’s better to pray a little and mean it than to pray a lot and not.

but now, even though i’ve had my intuition on this subject validated, i understand better, after tonight’s brocha, what they all meant by it being a little more complicated. moishe and i stood outside for a half-hour or so and talked about this predicament. he said, he felt the best thing for me to do was to wrap tefillin every day. even if it was for a short duration, just to say the shema alone, it’d make a world of difference. and without going too far into it in its mystical significance, i can see where he’s getting at, and it’s the same place the lubavitcher rebbe was coming from. he would say, “get people doing mitzvahs first, then worry about telling them what it means.” right now i’m in yeshiva trying to learn what it all means so that when i say the words of the liturgy, i know what i’m saying and i have kavana doing so. but i realize now, it’s equally as important to say them without being sure of what it all means, at least for myself, because otherwise i’ll be stumbling all over myself during services and more focused on that stumbling than i will the prayers. only with constant practice, and honestly with (what i hate to call) the somewhat rote memorization of the prayers and rituals, will i be comfortable with the material enough to not be distracted by my shortcomings and thus, eventually, able to have true kavana.

moishe said, “judaism in itself is a very physical religion. you have to do the work.” furthermore he said that that work was “taking a yoke upon yourself.” he related it to marriage and the dedication one must have in their relationship to their partner. during dinner he made a speech, and referred to some scriptural authority who said, “you shouldn’t desire gan eden (the garden of eden) or olam haba (god’s world to come)—rather, you should desire nothing but god, closeness with god, above anything else.” i feel as though i’m already there in that place…desiring nothing more than to connect with the infinite. the question for me now stands, am i ready to take the yoke upon myself? am i ready to take upon the yoke of that practice? am i truly ready for vesselhood?

i suppose we shall find out soon enough…cuz right now i feel like “no,” and i don’t even know why not. by next week i could have changed my mind…

mazal tov, mazal tov, to the tzadik moishele rubenstein and his lovely kallah, nechama. the number of brochos i extend to them i can’t even express. may your love be such a vessel for the light of hashem people walkin’ past you gotsta wear sunglasses just to keep from tripping over themselves in the brightness, but that the light should reach them nonetheless.